Twisted Fate
by Kathryn Adkins
Summary: Sequel to "Put One Foot In Front Of The Other." Buffy POV, the morning after. Wicked hangover, startling discoveries.


Have you ever gone out partying with your friends only to wake up disoriented on an unfamiliar couch or in a bed that isn't yours? Yeah. That feeling of _Oh Shit! Where the Hell am I and what the Hell did I do_? _And why is there a sock on my tongue_?

It took me a few minutes to figure out that I was in a bed. Not mine. And that I was, indeed, not in Rome, Toto. I was, in fact, in a suite at Wolfram and Hart. And, no. There was no sock on my tongue. But I was beginning to believe that there was a wad of them twisted up inside my belly because it felt heavy and furry and they must have been Xander's smelly gym socks because I _so_ wanted to hurl.

I slowly roll over and feel the empty space beside me. Had it been a dream? Had Angel lied when he promised me that he'd bring me my vampire? Had I really called Spike _my_ vampire?

_Do we deserve a second chance?  
How did we fall into this circumstance?  
We weren't so straight and narrow  
This is much more than we deserve_

I pull the covers back and decide that it must have been a dream. I'm still wearing the same clothes I left Rome wearing. If Spike was real, I would be naked right now. And definately sore. I'm not either of those things. And I'm oddly disappointed by that.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and attempt to stand. I remember having had trouble with that the night before. Now, not so much. I'm standing just fine, albeit the wobble from lack of food. And the intake of way too much booze.

"Beginning to wonder if I was the only creature of the night around here, Pet."

I freeze up at the sound of his voice. Oh, God. It _is_ real. He _is _here. And I'm _still_ not naked _why_? And my mind is racing off in about a hundred different directions. Maybe he doesn't love me any more. Maybe he doesn't want me. Maybe he doesn't believe what I told him at the Hellmouth. So, I say it again.

_A higher voice has called the tune  
Two hearts that lost the beat will now resume  
The gift of life extension  
By divine intervention_

"Spike." My voice is raspy. Hoarse, but not harsh. Hell, it kinda sounds sexy. "I love you."

He grins at that.

"And I love you, Kitten." He cocks his head and narrows his eyes on mine. "Thought we established that last night?"

_It's gotta be a strange twist of fate  
Telling me that Heaven can wait  
Telling me to get it right this time  
Life doesn't mean a thing  
Without the love you bring  
Love is what we've found  
The second time around_

He's leaning in the doorway wearing a pair of soft blue jeans and a white t-shirt. I'm not used to seeing him like this. His hair isn't slicked back, but it's still white-blonde. It's damp from the shower and springing into soft curls. He looks so... soft.

He's holding a cup of something. Blood, maybe.

"Just wanted to be sure," I tell him. I feel a bit of flush creep into my cheeks. "Not remembering every bit of last night too well," I admit.

_Don't understand what's going on  
Woke up this morning, all the hurt was gone  
This is a new beginning  
I'm back in the land of the living  
_

He's still watching me. And not in a creepy kind of way. His eyes are full of wonder. And, what's that? Amusement?

"You put on quite the show, Pet." His chest puffs out with a bit of pride. I must have done something to make him go all peacock on me.

I sit back down on the edge of the bed and he steps into the room.

"Brought you some coffee. Some of that frou-frou crap you lot used to get down at the Espresso Pump," he says, handing me the steaming mug of latte goodness. "Is it still Chocolate Velvet latte?" he asks.

I smile and take a sip from the mug. Yes. It still is. I nod, grateful that he remembered. Grateful that he's here _to _remember.

"How's the tummy feeling?"

I don't even want to think about the tummy. And speaking of thinking, my head isn't feeling all that hot either. He disappears into the small bathroom off the bedroom and returns with a bottle of Advil. He shakes two pills out into his palm and offers them to me. I smile again, in thanks and quickly down them with the hot coffee.

"That should help a bit," he offers. "Maybe you want to eat something? Some toast? Or I could whip up an omelette if you think you're up for that?"

"No, I'm good," I lie. No, I'm great. I'm ecstatic. Wonderful. Walking on the midnight sun, is what _I_ am. I can feel the smile on my lips and I'm not even trying. It's just there all on its own.

He sits next to me and reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear. I can't help but lean into his touch and his hand wanders to my cheek. I close my eyes and sigh. Audibly, I guess, since he lets out a soft laugh. Not a mocking laugh. No. It's more of a surprised yet contented laugh.

"Why didn't you tell me you were..." What was he? Not alive. But not gone. "Why?" I ask, searching his eyes. I missed those eyes so much.

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Wasn't a lot to tell at first. I wasn't exactly, uh, tactile. Was a ghosty, love," he grins at me. At least he doesn't use big words that make me go_ huh_? I think for a second. That's right. Big words from the big dummy. Angel. I tried to stake him last night. And I yelled at him. And I blamed him.

"Did Angel make you keep it from me?" I'm afraid of his answer. If he says yes, I might go finish what I started last night and hand Spike a boxful of grand-sire ashes to scatter on the wind. If he says no, I can't guarantee my heart won't break.

"Not exactly," he tells me. Hmm. Noncommittal. Wasn't expecting that. "I wanted to tell you when we were in Italy. But the boy said you were off with that nit, the Immortal--"

I cut him off immediately.

"NOTHING. HAPPENED. No kissage. No fuckage. No... _nothing_. Just a few dinners, some dancing and me threatening to stake him if he ever made a rude comment about you again," I swear. I stare into his eyes willing him to believe me. "There's been no one since you. Slayer's honor," I add for good measure.

He believes me. But there's still something he's not saying. There's still something on his mind.

"The cookie dough--"

"Ugh! Again with the cookie dough!" I remember this bit of conversation I had with Angel the night before, too. "What is it with you damned vampires and cookies? I told him that _my_ vampire likes his cookies from the tube. Doesn't need them to be all baked and stuff!"

He looks confused by the outburst, but seemingly placated by my admission.

"Guess Angel didn't fill you in on the finer points of our conversation," I guess.

"Wasn't exactly in the talking mood when I saw him in the office this morning." His eyes light up as he remembers something and then he lets out a laugh. A big, hearty guffaw that he must have found impossible to supress.

"You owe Bernie an apology, Slayer."

Bernie? I don't know anyone named Ber--

"Poor bloke did nothing but his job and got a punch in the nose for his trouble."

Ohhh... Bernie. The security guard.

"Told me you were pretty well-lit." Spike's face is beaming. "Told me he heard you yelling through the phone when you made it to Angel's office. Said you wanted _your _vampire. S'that what I am, Buffy? Am I _your_ vampire?"

Like he didn't already know the answer to that one. So cruel. Torture a hung-over slayer. Wait a second -- he's not turning things around. _He_ didn't call _me_! _He_ didn't write! _He_ made Andrew lie. Okay, for like a second. Bit it was the cruel _intention_ that I was supposed to remember to be angry about.

"Why would you make Andrew lie to me?" I demand to know.

"Never made the boy lie about anything," he insists. "I just thought it would be best if you didn't know. Not right then, at least. And you could see the bloody good it did to swear him to secrecy, can't you? The little wanker spilled the beans with little to no prompting now, didn't he?" he guesses. And that guess would be correct. Andrew couldn't wait to sing.

"And just how long have _you_ known, Love?" he finally asks.

I'm staring into my coffee cup. There's still some left. I start swirling it around, careful not to let any slosh out of the cup. Is that a speckle of cinnamon I see floating in the top of my cup? Huh. He _didn't_ forget anything, did he? He reaches out and gently pries the cup from my hands. He places it on the nightstand and draws a leg up under him as he turns to face me.

"Buffy?"

I'm trying to find something else to focus on. I mean, yeah. I'm supposed to be the angry one here. He didn't call me the second he was corpo... what the Hell was that word? The second he could touch things. Whatever. He _didn't_.

"Buffy?"

Persistent fucker, isn't he? I'm looking at my hands right now as if they hold all the answers.

"Slayer."

This time it's more demanding and I scowl.

"A month. I've known for a bloody month."

Silence.

More silence.

I should have gotten a manicure before I came here. I start picking at my cuticles and then I feel his cold hand on my chin. He's trying to get me to look at him and I start crying. Dammit! Enough with the damn tears already! I should be happy. Now I'm just scared.

"I'm not mad, Buffy. Was a lot to take in, yeah?" He's being so nice. And gentle. Choosing his words carefully. Minding his tone. He can sense that I'm scared.

"I had a lot to think about." My voice comes out in a whisper. I give in and look at him. He understands. He always understands.

"Can..." I think about how I want to say this. "Can things be different? Can _we_ be dfferent?" I ask.

He puts his arms around me and pulls me to his chest. I feel him kiss my head and he sighs.

"I'm different," he admits. "I could never go back to the relationship we had. Abusive, at best. Crucifying, at worst. If that's--"

"No." I am firm with this. "No. That was not a relationship. I know that now."

He asks me what it is that I want.

"You." I tell him. It's really a simple answer. But it's really all I want. "Just... you."

"And can you give the same in return?"

Not as simple a question, considering our history. But the answer is ready on the tip of my tongue.

"Yes." And I mean it.

I look up at him and run my hand softly down his cheek. He closes his eyes and takes my hand in his, moving it to his lips. He kisses my palm. Such a simple, sweet gesture yet so profound.

He dips his head down and captures my lips in his. This is the tenderness that had made me run so many times. Now, it was that same tenderness that had me firmly rooted to my spot on the mattress. I never wanted it to end. He pulled away reluctantly. Oh yeah. The whole breathing thing. And here I thought I was getting light-headed from lack of food. I'm glad one of us remembers that I need air to survive.

"You should probably call the Niblet, make sure she's okay. Let her know where you are," he suggests.

"I'm sure Andrew's given her the full monty by now."

Spike chuckles and I can tell that he's trying to stifle it. Like he knows something that I don't.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"Funny? Oh, nothing. Nothing's funny." He's biting his lip to keep from cracking a big, goofy smile.

"_William."_ His Christian name always gets him. Especially when _I _say it. And I've got the resolve face going on again. The one I tried out when I was drunk. I'm thinking it's probably more effective when I'm sober.

"You didn't leave him there alone with Dawn?" His eyebrow is raised.

Now that was just stupid. Of course, I did. Andrew could be trusted to make sure Dawn didn't get into any trouble. He had always been smart enough to point out the boys I wouldn't want anywhere near her. And he actually got pretty good at scaring them away on his own.

"Of course I did. She knows that he'll rat her out in a heartbeat if she does anything she shouldn't do."

He was totally trying to hold back from full-on, out-loud, uncontrollable laughter. What the Hell?

"Slayer... Buffy..." He was staring at me like he finally realized that I didn't know the big joke. "You're not that daft, are you?"

Huh? Making with the insults after I dragged my fanny overseas to kiss his? _So_ not what should be happening in this bed right now.

"Andrew... the boy. He goes out on dates and the such?"

Why does Spike care about Andrew's social life?

"Why do you care about Andrew's social life?" God, like it isn't totally obvious that Andrew bats for the other team. And that he's in total denial. Why embarrass him by asking him about his dating habits?

"Just wondering what he does for kicks is all. If he's made any friends outside those two hotties he was with when Peaches and I stopped by," he asked.

Two hotties? Oh, Lorna and Marie.

"Oh, you met Lorna and Marie. They bat for the same team. Uh, not the same team as Andrew. But the same team as each other. " Speak English, Buffy.

"They're lesbians. Like Willow."

"Didn't say they weren't." Uh-huh. So he figured that one out on his own.

I am so not following this whole twisty-turny road right now.

"Buffy... just don't leave Andrew home with Dawn anymore. Not without a sitter for the two of them."

What the Hell? What was he implying?

"Spike, I'm telling you, Andrew is GAY."

"And Buffy, I'm telling YOU that I could smell the Bit all over him -- and I'm not talking about her perfume or the fabric softener you bints use."

Smell Dawn? All over...

I am SO gonna kill him when we get back to Rome.


End file.
